Location: Still foothills-adjacent. Thrilling.

  Some days are for brewing potentially reality-altering potions or deciphering ancient curses. Other days are for cleaning sentient hair that got itself coated in four centuries' worth of magical dust, dubious powders, and glitter glue residue. Guess which kind of day today was?

  Yes. Hair washing day. An unavoidable consequence of yesterday’s 'Great Shelf Reorganization Fiasco'. The Hair looked like something that had crawled out of a wizard's chimney after an experiment involving soot sprites and disco balls. It couldn't stay like that – the magical residue buildup can make it unpredictably volatile, not to mention it was shedding grey sparkles everywhere.

  First, preparation. Dug out the reserve supply of 'Follicular Pacification Wash' – a mixture involving purified water, essence of chamomile (the good stuff, not the terrified high-altitude variety), oil of slippery elm bark (for detangling), a drop of lotus nectar (for calming), and just a hint of temporary sentience-dampening charm (don’t tell the Hair about that last one, it gets offended). Mixed up a cauldron-full. Then had to prepare the bathing chamber – mostly involved casting expansion charms on the old claw-foot tub so it could actually accommodate the sheer volume of hair without it spilling over the sides and trying to escape down the hallway.

  Then, the coaxing. The Hair knew what was coming. It had retreated under the largest armchair and was pretending to be an inanimate rug. Took ten minutes of negotiation, promises of letting it play with the wind chimes later, and eventually just physically hauling the main mass of it towards the bathroom, feeling like I was wrestling a dusty, unusually flexible python. It remained sulkily limp during the initial wetting-down phase.

  The washing itself is always… an experience. Lathering takes forever. You have to work the potion through every strand, ensuring the cleansing agents neutralize any reactive residues. The Hair seemed to resignedly tolerate this part, even emitting a low, pleased-sounding hum when I got to the scalp-proximal regions (yes, it's still attached to my head, a fact I try to ignore most days). Things got interesting when the Pacification Wash hit the glitter-glue-like residue from yesterday – it reacted, creating streams of harmless, rainbow-coloured, faintly lavender-scented bubbles. For about five minutes, it looked like I was bathing a depressed, hairy unicorn. The Hair seemed briefly fascinated by the bubbles, batting at them with detached strands.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Rinsing is the real nightmare. Getting all the potion out of floor-length, dense, magically-charged hair requires patience, gallons of magically warmed water, and constant vigilance against the Hair deciding it’s had enough and trying to climb out of the tub mid-rinse. Had to employ three different detangling charms sequentially to get the magical combs through it without snagging or provoking outright rebellion.

  By the time we got to drying, the Hair was officially bored and fidgety. My usual method involves levitating sections and using gentle warming-and-drying air currents. The Hair’s preferred method apparently involves attempting to shake itself dry like a colossal wet dog, sending water spraying across the entire bathroom, followed by trying to ‘help’ by wrapping damp sections around hot water pipes or attempting to braid itself using the towel rack as an anchor point. It took another hour, three near-slips on the wet floor, and considerable cursing to get it mostly dry and back to its usual (if currently clean) state.

  The shelf, by the way? Already looks slightly less organized than yesterday. Found a jar of dried newt eyes inexplicably placed next to the sugar canister this morning. The Hair denies everything, naturally.

  So, my afternoon is gone. The bathroom looks like a swamp monster had a bubble bath. I smell faintly of wet hair and lavender. The Hair, now clean, glossy, and lying in shimmering coils across half the parlor floor, looks obscenely pleased with itself, probably already plotting how to get dusty again.

  Definitely need that cup of tea now. And maybe I won't attempt any complex organizational tasks for at least another decade. Or century.